


Games We play

by shadow_in_the_shade



Category: War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Incest, maybe? It's very very vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_in_the_shade/pseuds/shadow_in_the_shade
Summary: Helene and Dolokhov are more alike than either will ever admit. Helene has a question for him; he was going to ask her the same thing. These two are full of lies, poor things.





	Games We play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KyraKuru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyraKuru/gifts).



**Games We Play**

 

“Look what I found.”

She sashays into the room, eyebrow arched, waving the letter in between her fingers playfully; but he catches something angry in her voice and cannot quite tell if _angry_ is what she is, or amused. She makes it so very hard to tell. She does it on purpose of course; he knows that and respects it, so used to having to put on a public face, a voice that disguises true feeling that she forgets when she does not need to. Well, that could apply to him too.

“What is it?”

She hands it over, if anything arching the eyebrow even higher. Dolokhov begins to read, not getting up. She remains standing. It bothers most people when she does this. It doesn’t bother him.

“This is addressed to your – to Pierre”. He does not omit the word out of any consideration for himself, just knows she does not like it or ever care to hear it. He learnt that before.

“Well no-one would need to write it to me now, would they? I already know I’m fucking you.”

He almost smirks at that. She’s remembered she’s not in public after all. He’s never known a girl high or low born that could swear like she can. He used to think it was Anatole’s influence. He found out since that if anything it was the other way round. He reaches the end of the note.

“Huh,” he says noncommittally. She stares at him a moment, clearly expecting more. He does not give her the more she is after. That would be easy and therefore dull. One thing they never are is dull –

“Where did you get this?”

“In his things,” she shrugs – “So?”

He sighs, rolls his eyes a little.

“Well what do you want?” he says eventually.

“I want to know if you wrote it.”

Finally he does laugh, grins up at her –

“That’s your first thought? That I wrote it myself? To be honest if you hadn’t come to me with it I’d have asked you the same question.”

For a moment she looks cross, like she’s lost a round. She is always, he thinks, at war with everyone she speaks to, even him- but by god he understands and appreciates that too.

“You didn’t then?” she says.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Not worried though?”

“Not in the least, are you?”

“Please. I’m beyond reproach. Flawless. Hadn’t you heard?”

“Oh for god’s sake, Anat – Helene –” He shakes his head affectionately.

“Did you nearly call me Anatole?”

“No”

“You did! You nearly got us mixed up!”

“Well, sometimes you’re so interchangeable. Now then. Does it bother you? Getting caught?”

She snorts. It is incredibly unladylike and he loves it.

“I only wish I _had_ written it. Will he fight you, do you think?”

There is a look of excitement in her eyes that he finds rather adorable. He supposes he shares it.

“I do hope so. I’ll make sure of it my dear.” He kisses her hand; she giggles- it’s an affectation of course but the pleasure is genuine, it always is for him.

“Yes,” she says, voicing what he already knows – “I do like the idea. Two of you, fighting over me.”

“It won’t be because he loves you.” He does not say it unkindly. She sits down opposite him, shrugs again;

“ _Quelle_ _d’ommage_ ,” she drawls laconically – “As if I cared. Do you?”

“What? Care? Or love you?”

“Either.”

“No. Neither.”

She grins; it’s funny, she thinks, about how he and Anatole always say they don’t love her. Pierre often says that he does. She wonders why men never say what they mean. They’re never any good at it. They should leave lies to the ladies who need them.

“Will you kill him?” she says it so playfully it’s all the more savage.

“I won’t lose,” he says.

“I won’t marry you, you know.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I could never marry for love,” she says and he thinks it’s supposed to sound like scorn, but just for a moment he hears the sadness in it and he sees it in her eyes. He notices that she says _could never_ not _would never_ and he wonders if she means could not on her own account or could not because nobody would ever allow her to. He suspects the latter; he would never ask and she would never say. Then she blushes brightly, hearing what she said;

“Well,” she says, standing up quickly – “ _Bonne chance,”_ and she leaves faintly flustered, leaving him smirking. _Knight takes queen_ he thinks, _this round to me._

__x__

 **Hope you liked it! I _really_ wanted to get a “Whaaaat?” from Pierre in there but it just didn’t work out cause there was no room for Pierre here sorry ****J**  



End file.
